The Mage
by Diamonds and Pearls 91
Summary: After Catelyn sees her family being killed in a prophetic dream, she asks the Seven Gods for protection. The next day Draco Malfoy wakes up in Westeros with no idea how to return home. The magic that brought him there, bounded him to the Starks, forcing him to protect them for all their enemies who wish to tear them apart. Will his wit and magic be enough to save them all?
1. Shadows

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or Game of Thrones.

Author's Note: This story was inspired by both the GOT television and book series. All characters are the same age as their television counterparts and have the same physical appearance, but some of them might have traits similar to the ones mentioned in the books, like the Starks having grey eyes. I use a lot of other details from the books, like the terms used, and some of the characters and plot lines that were left out of the show.

Chapter One Notes: All sentences in _italics_ are quoted from 'A Song of Ice and Fire' by George R. R. Martin, and I've used one quote from the Season 1: Episode 1 transcript.

Warnings: Slash, Bi, violence, slow romance.

Enjoy!

* * *

CATELYN STARK had the most horrible dream.

She was sitting in the Great Hall with her family; laughing, enjoying the beautiful feast laid before them, when suddenly out of nowhere, a horde of menacing shadows swooped down to the table and began slaughtering them all. Amidst the chaos, she could see Jon standing safety in a circle of protection, a Valerian steel sword clutched in his trembling hand. Catelyn had never seen him look so terrified. She cried out his name, but he was a statue in the face of their suffering; silent, weak-kneed, and reluctant.

After waking up in a cool sweat, she threw on a heavy wool cloak and ran straight to the godswood. Tears poured from her eyes as she collapsed in front of a towering heart tree in the center of the grove; its blood red leaves and the grey-green needles of nearby sentinels formed a dense canopy overhead. "Mercy, oh Gods!" She cried, wrapping her arms tightly around the trunk. The face that was carved there was probably looking down at her with those sad, deep-cut eyes, pouring over her every sin like a maester looking through a lens, but for once she didn't care. "I'll do anything, just please...have mercy on my family."

Catelyn was a proud woman of the Faith, but that morning she begged both the old Gods and the new; fervent in her supplication, her desperate cries shattering the peaceful quiet of the forest. News of the lady's hysteria traveled quickly through the castle and the rumors grew more frantic with every hour that passed. First a guardsman was sent to escort her back to the keep, and then when he couldn't get the rambling woman to budge he ran to Maester's Luwin's turret, but not even her lord husband's most trusted adviser could speak some sense into the lady.

Darkness had filled the late summer sky by the time Ned marched through the iron gate; his long face was as grim as the one carved into the weirdwood's trunk.

"Catelyn, this is madness. You'll catch your death out here." He said, shining his lantern on her huddled form. When he reached out to touch her shoulder, she shrugged his hand away.

"What good is a godswood if you can't worship in peace?"

Ned sighed and kneeled beside her on the snow. "I thought you preferred the sept? At least there you'll be warm and I won't end up a widower."

"It is true, my southern ways have kept me from this place, but today it sings to me. I need to be here, Ned. The shadows are coming for us."

"Shadows?"

Catelyn nodded, her teeth beginning to chatter as a northern gale curled angrily around them. "There were so many of them, like bats in the night. One grabbed Bran and threw him against the ground so hard that his spine shattered. Then another one chopped off your head and mounted it on a spike for all to see."

Ned fell silent, unused to hearing such gruesome language coming from his wife's mouth.

"I could see the girls fading away as your life's blood spilled across the Great Hall, and when the maggots began to consume your flesh, I couldn't—" She choked back a sob, "I couldn't see them any longer. It was as if they'd been ghosts from the start. Robb tried to find them and was taken down by arrows, and I took a sword to the neck. You'd think they would have shown mercy on Rickon; he's still so young in his way, much softer than our Bran, but they killed him too."

"The cold, it's making you delusional. Let us repair to our bedchambers, I'll have the handmaidens draw you a nice warm bath."

"I cried out for Jon, and do you know what he did? He just stood there and watched, like the craven bastard he is; dressed in the brother's black and wielding a Valerian steel sword."

"It was just a dream—a nightmare."

Catelyn shook her head, "No, it was a prophecy. Our family will be slaughtered like pigs and all because I refused to be that boy's mother. He'll be safe in the Night's Watch and when the shadows come he won't help us."

"I've heard enough of this nonsense." Ned said, rising from the snow. "You scorn the boy for being my bastard and now you scorn him for a nightmare. Jon already has a difficult life paved out for him, he does not deserve such malice."

"If it was only a mere nightmare as you say, then how in the world did I get this?" She tore off the first two buttons of her cloak and dragged the material down, revealing the milky white expanse of skin underneath. Ned almost dropped his lantern in shock. Across his wife's slender throat was a jagged necklace of red scar tissue.

* * *

The next morning Catelyn went to break fast in the Great Hall. Most days she preferred the solitude of her bedchambers, but as the lady of the house, it was important to show face, even in times of despair. Behind the giant oak door, she could hear the clangor of silverware amongst a din of voices. Lifting her chin, she strolled past the threshold with all the grace of a highborn lady and stoicalness of a Stark.

Silence fell upon the hall. Every eye from every corner of the room was drawn to her as if by some magnetic force. Jon was the first to look away; he was sitting at one of the trestle tables closest to the entrance, far away from the platform where his lord father and his trueborn siblings were seated. The sight of him made her stomach churn. He'd always been a bane to her existence, a living reminder that the honorable Ned Stark had once dishonored her. If only Ned had sent the boy away, then maybe she wouldn't have been so cold, and the Seven wouldn't send shadows to murder her family in retribution.

Catelyn swallowed her pride and gave the boy a jerky nod before hurrying down the aisle.

The serving girls rushed to accommodate her the second she reached the platform. "It's good to see you well, Lady Stark," a rosy-cheeked girl named Edie said as she filled her plate with poached eggs, a rasher of bacon, and hot bread doused in honey. Next to her, Rhiannon set down a tray of orange mint tea. Catelyn's favorite.

"Thank you," she said, bringing the small cup to her lips. The air around her husband was tense. The only ones that seemed immune to it were her children who were lost in their own little worlds. From her left side she could hear Robb waxing fond about his last hunting trip in the wolfswood, and to her right Arya was gigging and squirming helplessly in her chair. Septa Mordane was not amused in the slightest. "A lady must not conduct herself in such an ill manner, a lady must be still and poised!"

"How are you feeling?" Ned finally asked. Catelyn could feel him watching her carefully with those intuitive grey eyes. Stark eyes. Her husband was a true northern man, built to endure all the hurdles that life threw at him. If her behavior last night had disturbed him, he didn't let on.

"You already know the answer to that question," she said, her hand reaching up to touch the velvety blue scarf around her neck. Underneath the fabric, the scar tissue felt like one huge vein. Ned thought she'd cut herself on purpose, a temporary moment of madness brought on by her nightmare. That still didn't answer how it managed to heal so quickly.

Ned sighed, "We will talk about this when you're ready."

Later while she was halfway finished with her meal, Ned gave her a report of all the things she'd missed yesterday in the godswood. Ned's guardsmen had spotted a lone deserter from the Night's Watch outside of Winterfell; the boy had been delusional when they brought him to the chopping block to be executed. _"The White Walkers. I saw the White Walkers,"_ the young lad had said before Ned swiftly decapitated him. Bran and the older boys were all there to witness King Robert's justice being done.

White Walkers, Catelyn thought with a cold shudder. Ned wasn't one to believe in hearth tales, but the Tully women were a superstitious lot.

 _"Ben writes that the strength of the Night's Watch is down below a thousand. It's not only desertions. They are losing men on rangings as well."_

"Do you think Mance Rayder is behind it?" She asked.

 _"Who else?_ If he does not cease, _I will have no choice but to call the banners and ride north to deal with this King-beyond-the-Wall for good and all."_

"God's be good," Catelyn muttered. She hoped it would never come to that. Terrible things happened behind the wall.

"I have other tidings," Ned sighed. _"Jon Arryn in dead."_

 _"Is this news certain?"_ She asked.

 _"It was the king's seal, and the letter is in Robert's own hand. I saved it for you. He said Lord Arryn was taken quickly. Even Maester Pycelle was helpless, but he brought the milk of the poppy, so Jon did not linger long in pain."_

 _"That is some small mercy, I suppose,"_ She reached over and took his hand. "Oh, Ned. I'm so sorry for your lost. I know how much you loved the man." Ned had been fostered by Jon Arryn when he was just a boy. He was both a father and mentor to Ned, protecting him during the dark times when the Mad King ruled the Seven Kingdoms. Guilt weighed heavily in her mind. If only she never had that dream, she would have comforted him the moment he received Robert's letter, instead she just made it worse.

"The King also writes that he's riding to Winterfell. He wishes to seek me out, I suppose." Robert had been fostered alongside Ned at the Eyre, they were like brothers. Maybe this visit would help cheer him up.

"I will begin the preparations on the morrow," She said. It was going to be awhile before Robert and all his knights, retainers, and freeriders arrived. The King never left his castle without half the court. His wife Cersei and their children will no doubt be there as well.

Arya started squirming around in her seat again.

"What in the Seven hells is that?" Catelyn noticed there was a small lump protruding awkwardly out of her daughter's tunic.

She reached down and drew the hem up, causing a whimpering ball of grey and white fur to spill out on the girl's lap.

Septa Mordane nearly choked on her eggs. "I told you not to bring that beast in here!"

"Her name's Nymeria," Arya said, glaring at her tutor. When her eyes flitted back over to her mother, her courage dissolved. "Father said I could keep her."

"Ned, is that true?" Catelyn asked, raising her brows at him. He looked just as cowed as his daughter.

"I forgot to tell you...Robb came across a direwolf in the riverbank yesterday. The bitch was already dead, killed by a Stag most like, but her pups survived. I told the children they could keep them as long as they were responsible."

"There's six of them!" Arya piped cheerfully. "Father says, _a direwolf will rip a man's arm off his shoulder as easily as a dog will kill a rat."_

Catelyn found it hard to return to her meal after that. The tidings had ruined what little appetite she had. Direwolves in Winterfell. It seemed odd that the day Ned received Robert's letter, was also the same day that both the sigils of their houses; a direwolf and stag, were found dead in the snow. Not to mention that it was the stag's horn that killed it. White Walkers, Jon Arryn's death...She wondered if all these things were connected to her dream, and how did Jon Snow tie into it.

"Lord Stark, come quick!"

Catelyn looked up as Jacks and Heward, two of her husband's best guardsmen came running into the hall, their faces flushed red from the icy wind. Ned shot up from his chair and met them below the platform. Catelyn felt her heart racing as she tried to guess the severity of the situation.

"What is it?" She asked. Ned always reported to her the going ons in the castle. The management of a keep was just as much a lady's responsibility as it was a lord's, but this time he seemed hesitant.

"Tell me."

"They found a body in the godswood."

* * *

"Will he live?"

"There is no sign of any ailment or injury..."

"But will he live?"

"Cat, even if the boy wakes up, you don't honestly think I can let him stay here? He could be a rapist or a brigand—Jorey thinks he might be a deserter."

"Look at how queerly the boy is dressed, do these look like the clothes of a brigand to you? Look at his hands, they don't have hands as fine as these at the Wall."

"I have to agree, Lord Stark. It's highly unlikely the boy is a brigand or a deserter, although the rapist part still stands into question.

Catelyn could tell by the knot in her husband's brow that his mind was racing with all the different things that could go wrong. She knew without a doubt that if she hadn't accompanied him to the godswood, the boy would have been sent to the holdfast outside Winterfell to await execution. Starks didn't take kindly to trespassers and neither did Tully's, but it was very clear to Catelyn that whoever this boy was, he did not come to Winterfell on his own volition. Something brought him here.

She remembered how peaceful he had looked in the snow; face lax and hands clasped over his chest. It felt like a funeral viewing, only the small movement of his chest proved that he was still alive. He didn't stir when Jacks kicked his leg, or when Ned checked his pockets for weapons. There was nothing in the queerly shaped bag he was carrying either. Catelyn demanded that he'd be brought into the sickroom to be looked after by Maester Luwin, and here they all were four hours later, still waiting for the boy to rise.

Ned ran a hand tiredly over his face. "This is madness, pure madness..."

"You are Lord of Winterfell, the decision on whether or not he can stay ultimately belongs to you. But as your wife, as the mother of your children, I beg you to treat him as kindly as you would a guest."

"A guest?" Ned spluttered. "He trespasses on my property and you want me to break bread with him? This boy is a stranger."

"You're right. He is a stranger...but not to the Gods."

"Catelyn—"

"Open your eyes, Ned! There were no footprints in the snow when we found him. He was laying right in the spot I had wept and prayed. Either my tears gave birth to him, or the Gods themselves sent him here. They've seen the shadows lurking and this was the answer."

"Maester Luwin, is there some sort of remedy for these phantasms my wife is clearly suffering from?"

"Phantasms, is that what you think?" Catelyn asked.

Maester Luwin cleared his throat awkwardly. "Lady Catelyn, if I may be so bold, how many years was your mother when she..."

Catelyn closed her eyes. Of course he would ask. She could see it on both their faces. "Killed herself, is that what you meant to say? She was thirty five, same as I."

"There was a recent finding at the citadel that Matron Madness is a common disease among noblewomen-"

"I do NOT have Matron Madness."

"What are the symptoms?" Ned asked, twiddling his thumbs.

"Delusions, bouts of hysteria, self-mutilation..."

"Hmm, sounds about right."

"Enough," Catelyn said, glaring at the two men. "I know none of my words make sense, if this was two weeks ago I would have thought I was mad too, but neither of you know what it feels like to watch your children die. It wasn't a dream. It was a warning from the Gods themselves." Catelyn stepped over to the boy's bed. He was so pale and gaunt, she wondered if he'd make it past morning. "Maybe this boy is no one like you say, maybe the Gods simply wanted to make me see the cost of my cruelty to Jon. Whatever the reason, I will make sure that this prophecy never comes into fruition."

* * *

AN: I hope you enjoyed the first chapter. Please leave a review and let me know what you think. I'm trying to grow as a writer so any constructive criticism is appreciated.


	2. Trespasser in Winterfell

"I want two sentries posted outside the boy's door at all hours. If he awakens, alert me at once. No one is to let him out."

"Yes, my lord."

Ned and Jorey Cassel were seated in the solar, where they always went to discuss important matters. It was a sparsely decorated, but still charming in its own way room with granite walls, a large tapestry of a direwolf hanging behind a black ironwood desk, a dining table for when his family joined him at meals, and a bearskin rug by the hearth.

Not only did the fire blackening the hearthstone fill the room with warmth, but the hot springs beneath the castle made him feel like he was sitting in a furnace. Sweat trickled down the back of his doublet as he rolled out a map of Westeros across his desk; Jory leaned closer so he could see.

"The boy has a tattoo on his arm, a skull with a snake running through its mouth. I thought he might be from Dorne," Ned said, pointing to the southernmost part of the continent. "The Manwoody's in Kingsgrave have a sigil of a skull too—only theirs is white and has a gold crown."

"What about House Lynderly? Their sigil is a snake I believe."

"Yes, eleven green snakes on a field of black."

Jory shrugged, "It could be a personal sigil, one he made for sentimental value."

"That is possible. I shall send a letter to Lord Lynderly to confirm this," Ned was quiet for a few moments as memories from long ago flitted through his mind. "Jon never cared for tattoos, said only men with something to hide decorated their skin." That was Jon; blunt, righteous to the root, and always seeking truth.

Jory looked contrite. "My lord...I haven't had a chance to tell you how sorry I was when I heard about Lord Arryn's death. He was a very honorable man."

"That he was." Ned wished he could have seen the man just one last time before he'd passed. It seemed almost cruel how fast he was taken, leaving behind a misery wife and a sickly son. At least Lysa had the good sense to leave King's Landing; it couldn't have been healthy living around so many Lannisters.

A sharp knock on the door heralded Maester Luwin; he was carrying the queer leather bag they'd found on the boy's person. It was empty when Ned looked inside, but the old maester wanted to check to see if there were any poisons or weapons sewn into the material. Catelyn thought they were being too overly cautious, but it wasn't everyday a stranger just happened across Winterfell with nothing but the clothes on his back and a empty bag. The Starks had enemies just like any other great house, and with the King on his way, they needed to staunch all threats before they became a problem.

"Did you find anything?"

Maester Luwin shook his head. "Whatever reason the boy came here for, he traveled alone and unarmed. It's safe to say that he is not a danger to anyone here."

"Maybe he's just a beggar and nothing more," Jory said.

"I hope so..." Sighing wearily, Ned rose from his chair and strolled over to the tall, narrow window that faced the courtyard below; a light snow had begun to fall, flooding life back into the bleak maze that was Winterfell. He could see everything from here; the library across the bailey, the guards hall, the kitchens, even the glass garden beyond the godswood. It was times like these where he was very aware of his fortunate upbringing. Who was he to call himself warden of the North if he couldn't protect the people, or help them when they were in need?

"When the boy awakens I shall let him rest here for a fortnight, but nothing more."

* * *

Draco remembered racing down the Hogwarts corridors, he remembered how his heart pounded, the dryness of his mouth as he struggled to breathe. Someone was chasing him...

Then, just when he thought he might get caught, he woke up in a strange room he had no memory of falling asleep in. He looked around, taking in the medieval style furnishings; brass chambers pots stacked beside an ornate, wooden hearth, bleak stone walls, an oil lantern on his night table, and a featherbed that smelt faintly like wet dog. Through the frost covered tower windows, he could hear horses galloping, wheels creaking slowly along pavement, birds nestling in the rooftops...voices and footfalls. Suddenly the door swung open, and two girls wearing ratty roughspun gowns entered the room; one was carrying a chamber pot, the other a stack of clean bedsheets. They both froze when they saw him sitting up in bed.

"Where am I?" He demanded, peering down his nose at them. The skinny girl blinked owlishly and turned to her squat companion. He could tell they were both muggles, and judging by the way they were dressed probably lowborn too.

The squat girl hurried to his bedside and pressed a cool hand to his head. She had curly copper hair and freckles all over her round face.

"How _dare_ you put your hand on me," he said, slapping her hand away as if it were a Cornish Pixie. The girl jumped back.

"Bah hing you to Wintfell, voy?" She said, narrowing her eyes at him. "Dow you have ba nasba?"

"Huh?" Now he was the one blinking owlishly. He never heard this language before, it sounded like gibberish.

"You hont speeknah kommonz tong?"

"I have no fucking clue what you're saying." Draco looked over at her skinny friend. She was tall and gangly with stringy blonde hair. "Girl, bring me my bag."

"Hazmeh we shull trell Lor Stark zat tha voy bes awake?" She said, glancing nervously at the red head.

"Ughh, you're both useless," Draco said, tearing his covers away and stomping angrily to the door.

"Oh, ko ko ko! You muz stay tobell Lor Stark zeturns," The squat red head said, grabbing the sleeve of his medieval style sleeping gown. _Where the hell are my clothes?_

Draco narrowed his eyes as he tried to decipher what she was saying. "I...must stay?"

"Stay—" the girl nodded, "tobell Lor Stark zeturns."

The name Lor Stark sounded very distinguished to Draco, but the idolized way the girl had said it made Draco uncomfortable. Was this Lor Stark just a stupid muggle who came across Draco while he was passed out, and taken him in out of the goodness of his heart, or did he bring him here on his own volition? Draco's father used to tell him about the witch trials years ago, how greasy muggles would steal wizards from their homes and burn them at stake.

"When will this Lor Stark...zeturn?"

"Behem zit heemus bem."

Draco was at a loss again. "Err, how long do I...stay?"

The girl nodded again and patted his cheek. "Stay." Then she waved to her friend and they both headed out the door. When Draco tried to twist the knob it wouldn't budge.

* * *

"M'lord, the boy is awake!"

Catelyn looked up from her porridge as two of her handmaidens came rushing into the solar.

"Is he the one that snuck past the guards?" Arya asked, her face brightening with excitement. Everyone by now had heard about the 'Boy Who Snuck into Winterfell.' The castle was a terrible place to keep a secret. Guardsmen were like old maids the way they gossiped.

"Are you going to behead him, father?" Robb asked from his side of the table. Theon snickered, Jon stared with those watchful eyes of his, Sansa was feeding her new pet direwolf with a tablecloth she had soaked in milk, and Bran and Rickon were half asleep, poking at their food.

"There will be no beheadings today," Ned replied, rising calmly from his chair; his grave voice sending a chill down Catelyn's spine. She excused herself and quietly followed him out the door.

"How unfortunate," Theon said through a mouthful of black bread. "Mornings in Winterfell just aren't the same without a good beheading."

Catelyn and Ned hurried down the covered bridge to the sickroom; the handmaidens prattling away behind them. They were the cook's nieces; loud, chatty, and lowborn to the core.

"I tried to get the boy's name m'lord, but he doesn't speak the common tongue," Charlotte said breathlessly, her red curls bouncing as she struggled to catch up with them.

"He seemed awfully piqued," Lilith said dreamily; she was a tall girl, almost as tall as her son Robb. "Do you think he's from Lys? He's so handsome, I thought my heart was about to fall out me chest."

"Bet he's got a wife at home!"

"Bet he's got a wife and a mistress!"

The two handmaidens cackled raucously.

"Girls, please run along and help Sansa and Arya get dressed for their embroidery lessons. I believe it begins in an hour." Catelyn said, politely slamming the door to the sickroom in their stunned faces.

When she turned around, Ned was speaking quietly to the skittish boy. He looked to be around Jon's age, but younger in the face and lankier, with sharp, angular features, and eyes that were as pale as a frozen lake; grey and hard to read underneath all that ice. The boy had little body hair except for the silky blond strands on his head; it was styled in a queer fashion, long and wavy in the front and neatly trimmed in the back.

Charlotte had been right, the boy didn't speak a word of the common tongue. He looked at Ned as if he were a great big goose with ten legs.

"My name is Lord Eddard Stark," Ned said, pointing to his chest. He was a magnificent sight to behold in his white fur-trimmed cloak with a snarling, silver direwolf sewn on the back; it's intricate needlework glinting regally in the candlelight. Catelyn wore a similar cloak over a powdery blue, damask gown. Northerners didn't usually dress in such fanciful raiment, but every lord and lady must look the part once in a while if they wanted the respect of their house.

"Lord Stark," the boy said, clumsily.

"Yes, and this is my wife Lady Catelyn," He said, resting a gloved hand on her shoulder.

Catelyn smiled down at the lad, but the frost in his mien didn't melt, and neither did the cold, foreign words coming forth from his pompous mouth. He was a far cry from the boy they found sleeping peacefully in the godswood. Maybe this was a test from the Gods, she wondered.

"What do you think he's trying to tell us," Catelyn asked, watching as the blond gesticulated wildly with his hands, his face getting more flushed by the minute.

"I think he's saying he wants to go home." Ned said with a startled laugh.

Catelyn shook her head as if his words had been eons away from what she'd been thinking. "No!" She said, her Tully blue eyes widening in desperation. "No. He can't go home. I will not allow it."

The boy looked puzzled, then he looked absolutely furious. "No!?"

"Cat, if the boy wants to leave—"

"My family is under great danger," she said, kneeling at the boy's bedside. He pulled the covers up to his chin as if he were afraid she might hurt him. "I believe the Gods have sent you here to protect my family."

"Madness," Ned mumbled, looking embarrassed.

"I'm sorry, but you must stay here and keep the shadows at bay. It is your duty as our protector, as our gift from the Seven."

"...Stay?"

"Yes, dear boy, _stay_."

* * *

AN: I know the Starks speak English in the television series, but in the books they speak "the common tongue" like most of the people in Westeros. In my version, I imagine this language to be a lot like gibberish to an English speaker, but still with some English words thrown in there so Draco won't be completely lost. I gotta give him a fighting chance lol. Don't worry though, the language barrier is only temporary.


End file.
